Fractured
by Ellesemera
Summary: The instincts of flesh, his legacy, awaken in the middle of war, a war that he and his kind brought upon themselves by supporting an insane megalomaniac. He doesn't know how to protect her, or if he even wants to, but to survive, he will do anything. And for him to live, she must survive. Dark/Possession/Abuse/Torture/etc etc Veela!Draco HG/DM
1. Chapter 1

Hello fellow readers. I am back. It's been years since I posted, I know. But here's another story for you to feast your eyes and mind upon.

It's a DM/HG story. It's a veela story. I know that these have been done to death but perhaps my take on them would surprise you :) Fingers crossed.

**Warning: Explicit content, Graphic science, torture, Non-con, dub-con etc etc etc. **

* * *

**Chapter 1. The Happy Years**

* * *

"Blimey, Hermione! That was some good strike," Ron thumps her back, almost too hard. "Malfoy had it coming, the git."

Hermione gives him a small smile. He's right. Her hand still stings from the impact she made with Malfoy's jaw. No matter. He does deserve it. He's such a loudmouth. Granted, the hippogriff did attack him but the nincompoop ignored direct instructions. And then to go about insulting poor, sweet Hagrid

And he struts around the school as if he owns it.

_Damn it,_ she sighs. Ron, she and Harry sit in the common room while she takes elaborate notes for her homework and they play a game of exploding snap. It's not fair that people like him exist in this world. It's not fair that these so called purebloods have the advantage of lineage and experience while muggleborns like her have to work thrice as hard to catch up.

And they bask in the privilege, looking upon their fellow students as less than—everything.

She hates it all. Her aggression towards Malfoy was partly fuelled by her bruised sense of belonging, something that eludes her despite three years at Hogwarts.

She pinches her nose and looks at Lavendar. She is sitting across the common room with Parvati, her legs crossed, and they seem to be discussing something. _Girl talk_. She rolls her eyes and goes back to work.

"Hermione, are you listening to me?" Ron flashes the light emanating from his wand tip into her eyes. She blinks in surprise.

"Yeah—-what? Put that light away, Ron," she snaps at him. "I am busy, can't you see? What do you want?"

He looks a bit sheepish at her reproach.

"Harry and I were wondering—you seem tired lately. Are you sure the schoolwork isn't getting too much for you?"

There is concern in his voice. He's right. She is too tired. Using the time turner frequently has led to confusion and slips. She must be more vigilant.

"I'm fine, Ron. It's all good."

"Okay, because earlier when you suddenly vanished, Harry and I were worried that Malfoy had done something to you as… payback, you know."

She bites her lip uncertainly.

_Would Malfoy?_

_Should she be on her watch?_

She shakes her head. No, she won't live her life in fear.

* * *

She is late for Potions. She turns a corner when she hears voices from a nearby class room. She wouldn't have cared but the cold drawl is all too familiar to her. She sneaks to the door.

"The nerve of her—the little know-it-all," Malfoy says to Crabbe. He is sitting on the teacher's desk, surrounded by his regular cronies. Nott, Goyle, Zabini.

"I could hex her for you." Zabini fingers his wand casually, leaning against a wall. "No one would know. We all know her usual haunts—the library, the common room, the Great Hall. Her life is rather dull, even for a mudblood."

Hermione's blood boils at the reference.

"I could do it myself, Zabini. Besides, as my father says, revenge must be personal if it is to be satisfactory." He slides off the table with a soft thump. "She'll get what's coming to her. Come on, we'll be late for class."

Hermione walks away quickly, and quietly, promising herself to be extra vigilant.

* * *

**Constant Vigilance.**

She breathes out.

Professor Moody has been hammering it into their heads to stay on their toes.

She sits at a library table, absently turning the pages of a book. The library is quiet at this hour, except for that boy from Durmstrang—Krum. He sits at a distance and sometimes, she fancies that he stares at her.

She doesn't flatter herself like most girls in her year. He couldn't possibly be interested in her. Not when she looks like…herself. She averts her eyes and her gaze falls upon a tall form entering the library.

_Malfoy_.

He has grown taller and has an athletic build. He looks older than fourteen. He glances at her cursorily before smirking and moves over to talk to Krum. She buries herself deep in the book in front of her.

* * *

The Yule Ball finds her exhilarated. To her unassuming eyes, it seems like the world had eyes only for her that night.

Krum has been the best of partners. He has literally swept her off her feet and she has finally understood how it feels to be admired, desired… something she never has been.

But then, at the end of the night, he propositioned to her. A night of love, he called it,. She know what he means. She is tempted but she rejects his offer and then Ron has to come in and ruin her mood further.

She has been crying for a while and she roams the corridor aimlessly. Turning a corner, she crashes into someone.

"Watch your step," a disgruntled voice mutters, disentangling himself from her. "Granger?"

_It's Malfoy. As if her sorrow and humiliations could get worse?_

"Malfoy." She turns away her tear-stricken face and tries to get past him but he puts his arm against the wall, blocking her way. "Remove your hand."

"Make me," he says and stares at her. "Bad night?" He asks her mockingly.

She glares at him and tries to push him out of the way.

"Now, now, Granger, before you stoop to your mud-blood techniques of brawling, do remember the strength of your enemy." He crosses his arms on his chest.

She turns away her head. "What do you want, Malfoy? I am too tired to indulge in petty fights with you today."

He still doesn't move. He stands there, silently contemplating her slight form, from head to toe, as if he's calculating how deep the curse of her blood runs. After a long while, he lowers his arm blocking her way.

She flees the corridor without looking back.

* * *

She hates Umbridge. She is vile and loathsome, a vulture in the garb of an official.

She hates how Umbridge has made Harry bleed.

She hates how Umbridge tortures everyone at school.

She'll get back at her. Soon. She'll get back at her.

For everyone around her. And herself.

"Hermione."

"Yes, Harry?"

"Could you help me with this…"

She turns to Harry's homework. There are a lot of mistakes. It would take her a considerable amount of time to correct them all.

"Tell me about Lav-Lav, Harry," she says, picking up her pencil and underlining the first mis-spelled word. "I assume that Ron has already told you everything about his new pastime, hasn't he?"

Harry looks visibly uncomfortable.

"Look, Hermione, its.. nothing," Harry mutters quietly. "He's a teenager. He's got… it's just hormones."

"I _heard_ them, Harry. And then I _saw_ them. In your dormitory."

Harry looks away.

"It's nothing," he insists. "It's not like you're in a relationship either. And.. everyone's experimenting…"

"Except me…" she finishes. He shrugs. "I should…I need fresh air. I'll help you with the essay tomorrow, Harry. Sorry."

Life is uncertain. Now that the greatest terror of their life is back, she feels like she's on the brink of collapse. Every day brings terrible news. And here, cocooned in the safety of Hogwarts, she feels guilty for the countless many who perish out there.

All around her, students carry on as if their lives aren't tainted by this…evil thing. She won't say _his_ name. All around her, her schoolmates eat, sleep, and… fuck. She winces at the crudeness of her mind. It is exactly that though, isn't it?

She has witnessed Ron fuck Lavender. She can never _unsee_ it. Her naive crush is dismembered at the recollection. Every single time. Yet she doesn't resent him. The shadow of a war looms over him too and he should be welcome to his small comforts. She's almost sure that Harry and Cho have…

Her legs carry her to the Astronomy Tower. Quite unconsciously. One of the privileges of being a Prefect is that she doesn't need permission to roam the castle.

As she reaches the last steps that lead up to the tower, she hears voices. She knows that lovers frequent the tower at night, in search of isolation, a sort of light darkness, to hide their shame and pleasure. She would generally steer clear of the scene, but a morbid curiosity causes her to peek.

The sound of flesh upon flesh and flesh upon floor registers on her mind before her eyes behold the couple. She stands in the shadows, taking care to make no sound.

_It's Malfoy._ And the girl… is a pretty fourth year Slytherin. She doesn't remember her name. _But names are unimportant, aren't they?_ In this darkness, when all one needs to remember is pleasure and desire. Hermione looks on in horrified fascination at the couple, entwined shamelessly, flesh on flesh, their mouths open in carnal agony while their eyes see nothing.

She gulps.

Fifteen is rather young, is it not? As is fourteen. Don't they realise that an entire life of… fucking awaits them? But no. The young are always too eager to experience new things. They cannot wait. And she feels old. Despite the fact that she has never… she feels old like the very walls of the castle.

Her eyes travel back to Malfoy's face. He has hints of beard across his chin. His figure has become muscular and intimidating. Girls fancy that. There are rumours of his promiscuity and the only person he's consistently seen with is Pansy. But the girl beneath him isn't her.

A loud groan from his throat touches something in her gut and she slinks away hurriedly, not desirous of being found out.

* * *

Harry thinks that Malfoy has the Dark Mark. She laughs inwardly. The coward. There is no possibility in the world that someone like him could willingly have taken the servitude. The horrors of war have openly descended upon their world and the madness of it all consumes her. Harry's arguments, his insinuations sound far-fetched and yet she cannot help wondering.

_What if…? No, it's not possible. Harry is paranoid._ He is simply growing suspicious of everything around him and what with taking private lessons from Dumbledore this year, he has his hands full of bizarre tales, no wonder he concocts them himself.

"Hermione Granger," Professor Slughorn calls out her name and she is awoken from her reverie. They are brewing a simple forgetfulness potion today. She moves to stand by her usual partner, Neville Longbottom.

"Ah, the brightest witch of Hogwarts," he says fondly. "No, not there today—let's experiment a little with the pairing, shall we? Move over to Mr Malfoy, please."

She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head before collecting her things and going over to Malfoy's workstation. He crosses his arms.

"Make room for my things, Malfoy," she insists, sliding his blurrberry essence across the table.

"Whatever, bush-face," he snaps at her, pointedly moving to the far end of the table. She rolls her eyes.

They get on with the business of slicing, chopping, dicing…

"It's too bad that my sweet Draco is stuck with the bushy know-it-all," Pansy intones from the desk behind her. "We all know how he hates her kind."

Hermione throws her a black look and continues her brewing.

"Pass me the mugwort roots," she says distractedly. She extends her hand in anticipation.

Malfoy eyes her in disgust but picks up the jar of mugwort roots and lets it hover over her extended palm. She narrows her eyes. A twisted smile crosses his lips and he drops the jar.

The crash draws the attention of the entire class to them.

"You little imp." She retreats from the broken glass.

"Professor, Hermione dropped my jar of Mugwort roots," Malfoy complains to Slughorn in his bored, drawling voice.

"Did she now?," Slughorn says distractedly. "Taken another jar from the cupboard. And five points from Gryffindor"

He snickers in evil delight before moving past her. Just then, Pansy, in a hurry to reach the cupboard first, shoves bodily into Hermione who crashes into Draco and they both stumble across the floor and fall down in a heap.

Perhaps it is the impact of the crash or something else, Hermione's flesh burns against him on contact. He has landed on top of her and from the strain in his face she knows that he feels the burn too. Their eyes meet and for a second she sees shock and fear in them. His eyes narrow at her and he emits a curse under his breath. He hurriedly drags himself off her, still muttering curses under his breath, and scurries off to find the required ingredients.

* * *

Hermione has often wondered at the incident in the Potions lab that day. _Was that when he knew for sure? S_he didn't know until much later. Not even when she saw him lying on the floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, bleeding to death from Harry's heedless curse.

The dripping of water echoes shrilly, encompassing everything in that enclosure.

"Malfoy…"

Hermione calls out uncertainly. She had been passing by when Harry crashed into her, running as if he had the very hounds of hell behind him. He did not stay to explain.

Her curiosity drew her to the scene of the crime once more.

She sees rivulets of blood flowing across the floor, surrounding her thick shoes, and her gaze travels to his prone form. Horror creeps into her bones as she leans over him, trying to shake his body. He isn't dead is he? Harry couldn't have done this...

The gashes on his body are long and deep. His robes are torn, everywhere, and she doesn't know what to do. Hate him as much as she does, she cannot let him die.

"Malfoy… speak up," she murmurs quietly. _Should she go for help? Should she call Myrtle?_

Malfoy opens his eyes slowly. Blood finds its way through his tear ducts onto the surface of his pale, waxen cheek.

"Help me…" he whispers. "Hold my hand…"

It seems like a strange request but she relents. To a dying man such as he, she would deny no request. Every moment seems to squeeze life out of him. She bends down and clasps his hand tightly.

"Okay… just hold on," she mutters. "Don't die on me, Malfoy."

And strangely, ironically, a twisted smile crosses his lips. He closes his eyes. She looks around and an idea comes to her. She withdraws her wand from her pocket and flicks it, a whoosh and a slim otter drops to the floor.

"Tell someone… the first person you see… there's a student dying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Go now.. before it's too late."

Her job done, she looks at Malfoy's blood-drenched form again. His breathing seems even and the pool of blood around him doesn't look like it's growing. He must be stabilising, she thinks.

A few moments later, Professor Snape comes flying in and pushes her aside. She watches in quiet fascination as he recites an incantation, using hand gestures as well as breath control techniques that she has read about extensively. Malfoy's wounds seem to close but he drops unconscious. Snape lifts him in his arms and leave the bathroom but not before warning her in his dangerous drawl,

"Not a word of this to anybody, Miss Granger, or you shall regret it infinitely."

* * *

Harry hasn't been expelled. Hermione is relieved and yet a little … disappointed. All he has for punishment are detentions with Snape. He has justified himself by insisting again and again that Malfoy was about to use the Cruciatus cure. She shudders. But the curse Harry had used was dark and its effects grievous. _What if Malfoy had died? Would that make Harry as bad as Malfoy_?

It's been a week and she hasn't seen Malfoy. He's probably still recovering. Pansy has been berating Harry and all his friends ceaselessly. Harry is dejected at not having the chance to play in the Quidditch cup. And Ron… he's stuck to Lavender like paint to wall.

Ginny is strangely distant these days. Hermione has often wondered why Harry hasn't asked her out but he has his reasons and she doesn't pry.

She passes by the library and decides to take a long walk across the ground. It's an overcast day and most of the students are either in Hogsmeade or their common rooms. She walks around aimlessly, barely brushing the grass with her feet, wondering, wondering, watching…

She spies a group of Slytherins by the lake and decides to overhear their conversation. She creeps slowly, taking cover behind bushes and trees and finds a resting place that offers her easy view and hearing of the group.

To her surprise, Malfoy is among the group. He looks… fine. No scars on his face. No blood. His pale, pointed face looks impossibly healthy and his eyes, his grey eyes, shine too bright. His tall stature is intimidating and he is smoking as he leans against the tree casually.

"Drop it, Pansy," he snaps at the curvy girl who stands beside him, clearly annoying him. "You're not my mother."

"Be that as it may, smoking is bad for your health," she huffs loudly and stomps her feet.

Blaise Zabini chuckles at the spectacle.

"Let the man be, Pansy. Go away and bother someone else."

"I am worried about Draco, Blaise," she whines. Oh, How Hermione hates her voice. Pureblood, stuck-up, entitled princess. "Especially after his injury, he needs to be more careful."

Nott, who is a part of the group, looks at Malfoy in confusion. "What I don't understand is—why wasn't Potter expelled? The curse he threw sat you was almost an unforgivable."

Draco shrugs, like he doesn't care, as if the thing is a trifle to him. "Potter can do no wrong, Nott. The Headmaster always sides with him. Besides, I no longer care. I have other, more important things to consider."

Pansy draws closer to him, massaging his shoulders. "Oh yes. My delicious Draco has moved onto higher goals. School's almost out anyway."

Draco gently shrugs her off himself. "Yeah, uh, Pansy… I've been meaning to say this for a while but there was never a good time… just bother someone else, will you? I'm not the right person for you."

"But Draco…"

"Just go, Pansy…" he says sharply, in a commanding voice that Hermione has never heard before and it makes goosebumps rise on her arms. Pansy looks at Draco with narrowed eyes and hurt written all over her face. She fights hard to hold back her tears but she fails. Feeling humiliated, she runs from the scene, stumbling, and crashes into Hermione. Again. The second time in a month. _What are the odds?_

Hermione groans inwardly. The Slytherins, there are six of them, have become aware of her. Pansy doesn't stop though. She runs to the castle, leaving Hermione alone with the Death Eater brats.

"Look who it is, the Gryffindor Princess, in all her sneaky, bushy-haired, bucktoothed glory." Zabini yanks her forwards from her hiding place, drawing his wand upon her, and marches her to the middle of the group.

"Spying on us, were you?" Nott asks her a question to which he obviously knows the answer. Nott is smarter than this. She glares at the group.

"Why would I spy on a bunch of evil retards such as you?" she bites out. "I was just… strolling."

She can tell by the looks on their faces that they don't believe her. But there's nothing she can do. Zabini stole her wand when he frisked her. He still has his hands clasped tightly around her arm. His fingernails dig into her flesh.

Malfoy watches her quietly, a mask seems to fall over his face as he looks at her standing there, defenceless and defiant. His eyes hold her gaze for the longest time and she feels trapped, claustrophobic, and it is insane but she is unable to look away, to turn her glance away from his hypnotic gaze. It feels like the sky is crashing down upon her chest and she cannot breathe. When he releases her from his penetrative gaze, however, he looks down, his cheeks flushing.

_What's up with him?_

"Let her go, Zabini," he murmurs quietly to his friend. "She will taste enough blood before long."

Zabini isn't convinced though. "Oh come on, Draco. This is an excellent opportunity to humiliate the stuck up bitch. You may have greater things on your mind but we humble peasants have to make do with whatever entertainment we can get. And this one has literally fallen into our laps."

Zabini motions to Nott who grabs Hermione by the waist, tightly, and slides his hand up her skirt, pinching her thighs. She pushes him away, cursing, but Zabini grabs her by the shirt and pins her to the nearest tree. He sneaks a quick look around before landing a kiss on her lips. Hermione is shocked at this sudden turn of events and never has she had to deal with sexual harassment. The shock takes away her power of judgement and reaction and she stands there immobile.

"That's enough, Zabini," a cold, malevolent voice pierces the haze in her mind and Zabini is bodily dragged away from her. _Malfoy_. His eyes are no longer expressionless. A violent, red fire burns in them, something almost akin to Gryffindor and it would be fitting if it weren't so laughable. He holds Zabini by the collar, dragging him away from the tree single-handedly while his friends look on in disbelief.

"Draco…?" Nott says uncertainly.

Crabbe and Goyle stand ready to obey Draco's command and glare at Nott for protesting.

Draco pushes Zabini aside and lifts Hermione's wand off the ground. He throws it to her, his blazing eyes coming to rest on her chest. Hermione realises to her horror that the scuffle has resulted in the loss of a few buttons of her blouse. She catches the wand and covers herself in shame, her lower lip trembling in humiliation.

"Run, Gryffindor Princess, before the Slytherin wolves get you," Draco whispers darkly. She looks into his eyes, the crimson glare blending in the grey and she flees the scene.

* * *

I hope you liked it. I don't know. Let me know if you want me to continue.

Read and Review. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

"So how was detention with Snape?" Ron asks. Harry looks tired and dejected as he enters the common room. Hermione and Ron are seated near the fireplace, playing gobstones. Hermione hasn't told them about her encounter with the Slytherins. She does not want to cause more friction, especially in these times, when carefulness is needed.

Harry flops down into the nearest armchair and sighs. "He's making me organise and file records of detentions and other punishments. It is dull, mind-numbingly boring work."

Hermione purses her lips. "It is no better than you deserve, Harry. You used a dark curse."

"Yeah, I know… I just wish I didn't have another detention tomorrow so I could play for the team. It is the finals of the Quidditch cup."

"Snape's an evil git, always has been," Ron says, crossing his arms. Hermione doesn't say anything but shrugs her shoulders. "He's rooting for a Slytherin win."

"Of course he is, just like you are rooting for a Gryffindor victory," Hermione says as she watches Lavender enter the common room. Her eyes look bloodshot and her lips tremble when she looks at Ron.

"Is everything okay between you two?" Harry asks as he watches Lavender quickly scamper away up to the girls' dormitory.

"Um.. yeah, no… we kind of broke up." Ron runs his fingers through his hair. "It's—it was getting to be too much."

Hermione becomes very interested in a piece of paper she is reading. She doesn't want to take part in this conversation. She doesn't want to hear Ron talk about his difficulties with Lavvy. She's tired. So so tired.

Conversations soon drifts away into nothing and Harry, exhausted, bids them goodnight and leaves them alone.

They sit in silence.

"Hermione…"

She looks at him in consternation.

"I… now that Lavender and I have broken up… I mean… You know how I have always felt about you, don't you?"

She stares at him.

"I mean, I was wondering if… maybe you wanted to… um…"

Hermione sees him fumble with words. He looks so vulnerable, almost like the hapless boy she knew when they entered Hogwarts. But a shadow lies over him too. And they are no longer free-free from vice, free from care or grief.

"Ron." She leans forwards and looks into his eyes. "Don't, please. This is… not the right time or the right place. I don't know how I feel about you after… that night. I saw you and Lavender, together. It's not… There is so much that we need to do, that Harry needs to do—there's a war going on and we need to focus our energies on helping Harry thwart _Him_. Let's not speak of this again. Please."

If he's hurt, she cannot tell. They sit quietly once more, each occupied and burdened with their thoughts. Before long she begins to suffocate in his expectant presence. She picks up her things, makes and excuse for an early day and disappears into her dormitory.

* * *

The dour librarian looks at her in disapproval as she enters the library early in the morning. She has promised herself that she would uncover the truth about the Half Blood Prince's Potions book and she needs to check old newspapers in the library.

Thankfully, there is no one around. Old Daily Prophets are stacked towards the end of the library, next to the Forbidden section. _Odd choice of organisation,_ she murmurs, carrying a stack to her table.

An hour passes as she skims the newspapers in search of the elusive Prince. The work is monotonous and she feels drowsy when looking sideways, she hears a rustle of someone passing by the forbidden section. She turns her head and there is no one. Maybe they sat down at the table behind her bookshelf. She jerks away her sleepiness and sighs, deciding to leave for the day.

"Have you run out of relevant books to read, Granger, that you must have recourse to old newspapers to fill the tedious hours of your dull life?"

It's Blaise Zabini, standing next to the nearest bookshelf, effectively blocking her exit from the section. She narrows her eyes and stands up to face him.

"Funny, I never took you for someone who knows what an old newspaper looks like, considering you have never read a current one." She reaches for her wand, the memory of their last encounter firmly etched in her mind. "Please step aside or I will hex you, Zabini."

He smiles at her innocuously.

"No," he says. "We have unfinished business—from—last time."

Crimson creeps upon her cheeks and she readies for a stinging hex, eager to wipe the smirk off his face when another voice disturbs the tense atmosphere.

"Blaise, I have been looking all over for you! The match is about to start and everyone's out in the stands." It's Astoria Greengrass, beautiful like a sculpted Helen, breathless from running after her wayward boyfriend, and she stops abruptly.

"What is taking you so long—"

She looks at Hermione with distaste. And even though Hermione stands her ground she feels a hint of sting in her gaze.

_What does it mean to be equal, in this world or another, for creatures to respect and see each other truly, not marred by prejudice or hate?_

"What are you doing here?" she repeats, ignoring Hermione completely now. "_What are you doing with her_?"

Blaise smirks at Hermione and turns away. "Nothing, Tori, darling. I was getting a book for Malfoy when I happened upon this miserable creature." She takes his arm and they leave together, their voices too loud, echoing mutual hatred, and Hermione slumps back into her seat, emotionally exhausted. The newspaper on the table, the one she had almost dozed on, reads droll articles of old Gobstones clubs and the newly appointed head… _Eileen Prince_.

* * *

Hermione is late for Potions the next day. But she is not alone. Gryffindors trudge down the corridors, slowly, staggering, because they have been drinking all night, celebrating their Quidditch Cup victory. She sees Ron trying avoid direct eye contact with her but she gives him a warm smile regardless. They are friends. They have been friends for years and petty crushes aren't going to destroy their bonhomie.

Harry looks… different somehow. He's smiling and uncharacteristically—happy.

"Where were you all day yesterday, Hermione?" Harry asks her as they file into the classroom. "We had a blast, despite Snape's best efforts to contain us, Gryffindor won and we partied like hell."

"That's great, Harry… I was just researching something in the library and I lost track of time and then went to bed early." She slides her bag over to Malfoy's side of the table, cursing Slughorn for not assigning her a better Potions partner, not for the last time. "Listen, I have something important to tell you…"

"Settle down, settle down." Slughorn enters and cuts her short so that she is forced to move to her assigned desk. She sees Malfoy standing there, healthy, dour and motionless. He is staring at the cauldron before him, avoiding her completely. She prefers this to incessant childish insults and takes her seat beside him.

"We are going to brew the draught of peace today," Slughorn announces, waving his wand at the board. "Follow the instructions properly and in correct sequence. This will count for ten percent of your annual grade."

Mechanically, Hermione reads the instructions and gathers the ingredients. She notices that Malfoy is more disinterested than usual in their assignment. She looks over him and catches his reading an old, tattered book.

"What's that?"

As soon as she asks, she knows that she has made a mistake. He snaps it shut immediately and slides it into his bag, shooting her an annoyed look

"None of your business."

She rolls her eyes and concentrates upon the potion. The draught of peace is a complex potion and needs to be brewed precisely. She adds Hellebore to the cauldron and stirs, watching Slughorn progress through his class, stopping here and there to dole out praise and censure on techniques.

Ironically, Harry, who has sailed through these classes on account of the Half Blood Prince, seems to be failing rather spectacularly today. Despite adding moonstone, his potion remains stubbornly purple.

"Ah, Harry… could it be that the charms of a pretty lover are distracting you from your usual expertise and finesse in brewing today?" Slughron comments. "Buckle up, my boy, do better…There is still time!"

Harry turns red and tries to hide his embarrassment by coughing.

"Your boyfriend's got a new girl?" Malfoy asks snidely. "Too bad for you, mudblood,"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"No? Weasley then?" He takes the stirring rod from her hand and adds porcupine quills. "Worse choice, but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."

"I dont' have a boyfirned. And… shut up." She glares at him. He stirs the potion quietly, unaware of her eyes fixed on his face. His eyes, that have been so grey, steel-like and stubborn, seem changed somehow. Almost as if he's in a trance as he gazes into the cauldron and adds more Hellebore. "Besides, since when do you care?"

A vein twitches in his jaw, the vision of tranquility sudden dispersed by a mask of stone as he cranes his neck and looks at her. "I don't care. It's simply amusing to watch you fumble through your pathetic existence."

_What is callousness? What is pain? When does it end?_

_What does cruelty stem from?_

_Having suffered, are we more inclined to cause suffering?_

_Where does prejudice come from?_

Not able to find an adequate response to his jibe, she presses her lips and continues her work as if he doesn't exist. But he does. She is keenly aware of his eyes on her face. His outline in the periphery of her vision is distinct and dark. She turns to tell him to stop staring at her but his eyes catch hers in surprise.

They are not human. Not that colour. Not those outlines.

A moment passes and they are gone. She blinks and only sees the grey, silvery disdain of a pompous, entitled heir. Maybe she imagined it all.

_So many hints_, when she looks back on those days, _she had so many hints and yet no knowledge of what was to ensue._

* * *

H_arry still thinks the Half Blood Prince is innocent. But Hermione knows in her bones that his dabbling in the dark arts isn't healthy. For now though, his book is safely hidden in the Room of Requirement and he cannot use it with Snape after him, watching his every move like a hawk._

_Ginny kissed Harry, or the other way round. She is glad that her friends have repose in each other, doomed as they might be, such comforts are rare and she hopes they would cherish them._

_And Ron, she still sees him look at her hopefully, and sometimes with reproacch. Why doesn't she reciprocate? She cannot tell. Her feeling are… scattered, muted and half buried, perhaps. Besides, what is she supposed to do with a boyfriend? Or a lover? Kiss in the bushes, walk hand in hand to classes and share nights hidden in four poster beds and fuck?_

_Horcruxes. Horcruxes. Horcruxes._

Hermione has been late in returning from the library. Again.

The corridors are lined with shadows. As she turns a corner, she hears muffled voices arguing behind a classroom door. She draws closer, curious, and recognises them. Snape and Malfoy. She tiptoes as close to the door as she dares.

_"What the fuck, Severus," Malfoy seems to be saying, his voice panicking. "You said you would protect me and look what has happened! How am I supposed to do anything, after this?"_

_"Don't be impertinent, boy, and keep your voice low. You don't know anything yet. Not with certainty."_

_"But I do, Severus," Malfoy says. " What if… what if… he finds out and I—He will kill me and my family. You have to help, undo this—disgusting disease—undo this. You must. You swore."_

_"I swore to protect you with my life and I will," Snape drawls. "but you need to apprise me of your plan. I have asked you before, tell me what you're doing, Draco…"_

_"Yeah, maybe—help me first, just—help me, okay… I haven't told my parents yet, not before I could be sure… And even then, I would rather kill myself than be—"_

The conversation trails off and Hermione decides to leave before being caught. _What could their conversation mean? Is Malfoy diseased? Why would anyone murder him for that? It doesn't make sense._

_So many stories. So many motives. So much to analyse, dissect and rearrange. How can one make sense of this world?_

She has made herself ill with thinking and needs a break. And what better way than to indulge herself in some mindless socialising, at the Slug Club party tonight perhaps?

* * *

She is content with her appearance tonight. It isn't perfect or extraordinary but it is her. Sensible but stylish. Her hair, falling down her back, in natural curls emphasise her figure. She isn't going for others, after all, although Harry and Ginny will be there. And Ron probably has a date with a Ravenclaw girl. Tonight, it's just her.

The entrance to the party is decorated with soft golden hues.

Professor Slughorn has outdone himself this time. The chandelier, effervescent shimmers in the air and the heavily perfumed atmosphere is enough to make most people sway. There is music and dance. The food is delicious and a number of remarkable guests have thronged to the party. It might be his last party this year.

She grabs a drink, and slinks away to a corner, to hide and watch, see and dream. A flash of silver-blonde hair catches her eyes behind one of the curtains and she is sure that it is Malfoy.

She shouldn't be curious about him. This is silly. Harry has enough suspicions to cover their entire group but she cannot help herself. Especially in the dark, when no one will miss her or observe her, she follows him to the corner of the room.

She hides behind a pillar and observes him speaking to Zabini and the Greengrass girl. They look relaxed, almost peaceful and the bluish light makes his features look different from routine.

Her eyes follow Astoria as she leaves the group and joins Pansy in another corner. Zabini and Malfoy draw closer into the conversation, and she curses the loud music. She cannot hear them.

Frustrated, she moves over to Harry and Ginny's side.

"You made it, Hermione," Harry says, replacing her empty glass of punch with a full one. "Professor Slughorn has outdone himself this time, don't you think?"

"Yeah, um, Harry—-I need to talk to you about something… privately," Hermione whispers in his ear and he nods.

"I'll be right with you Ginny."

She drags him to a quieter spot and tells him about the conversation she overheard earlier that day.

"I knew the git was up top something!"

"Yes, yes, but we don't know what… from where I was standing, it looked like they were talking about some disease."

"Perhaps Malfoy has a terminal disease and he wants Snape's help."

"That doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't he tell his parents about it?"

"No idea." harry shrugs. "I still think he is a Death Eater. And if he's dying then good-riddance."

Hermione looks shocked. "You don't mean that. Bad as he is, you wouldn't want him dead, would you?" she admonishes him.

Harry looks chastised. "Well, no. I don't want him or his little gang dead…"

She gives him a small smile and sighs.

"You're happy with Ginny."

"I am," he admits and then looks away. "But it can't last… I cannot risk someone harming her… and they might come after her, for me."

Hermione nods. "Well, use what little time you have then… have fun. Go on, go back to the party and enjoy it like there's no tomorrow. I am going to go back to the dorm."

And she parts from him, a little wistful, a little melancholy and feeling worse than before.

* * *

She leaves the party alone, as she came. It is rather late and all the corridors are deserted, lit by moving shadows of torchlit flames. She feels tired and feverish. She notices after a while that a shadow is following her. She turns her head, trying to look through any enchantments but nothing is visible. She resumes her walk only to find the same ominous feeling of being watched overtake her.

She lets her wand slide down her sleeve into her hand, walking at a brisk pace, stops abruptly and turns sudddenly, letting a burst of magic surge from her wand,

'**_Calamitatis!_**'

The illusion of camouflage is instantly broken and she finds herself confronted by Malfoy. Without waiting for another curse or spell, he disarms her wordlessly and crosses the space between them swiftly.

She is thrown off her feet, her wand lands ten feet behind her. Dazed, She tries to get up but Malfoy is upon her and clamping a hand around her wrist he pulls her up, almost too painfully, and bodily drags her towards the closest class room.

"What the—let me go, you prick!"

He closes the door and pushes her against it, holding her arms frozen in his shackled grip. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Malfoy? Let me go this instant or I swear—"

"—Or you'll what? Scream? Throw a tantrum, like the filthy, disgusting muggle that you are, now that your wand's gone?"

She glares daggers at him. He is too strong. And her wand is outside the room. In the corridor. She considers kneeing him in his unmentionable places but looks at his wand trained at her neck and cools down.

"Well, what do you want?"

Her question surprises him, as if he had expected her to— well, she doesn't want to think of his thoughts.

"Admit it, that you're not a witch."

"But I am." She gazes at him defiantly. She is every bit his equal, if not superior, and she will not let him speak it otherwise.

He stares at her face emotionlessly and traces the curve of her jaw with his wand. "No, you're not. If you were, I wouldn't be your master right now, would I? A proper witch or wizard can defend themselves, with or without a wand."

"Hah!" She scoffs at his words. "You are not my master, Malfoy. You simply disarmed me—caught me in surprise. Do you really believe that you could win against me in a fair fight? Can you defend yourself without a wand and prove yourself a true wizard?"

He thin lip curls in impatience. He draws closes to her and she is aware of a faint, earth-like smell emanating from him. His eyes are the same stubborn grey, dark tendrils swirling here and there, and his face draws closer to her.

She is also aware of how pale his face is, how thin and wearied, for a boy of seventeen. And there is something different. It isn't entirely human. She blinks and the grey in his eyes is covered in golden, momentarily, and she is convinced that she is hallucinating.

He blinks.

"I need you to leave, mud blood. Leave Hogwarts. Leave this world—my world," he hisses. "If you do not…"

"If I do not then what? What will you do? Bully me and my kind into leaving? Threaten us with murder?" she says. "You sicken me, Malfoy—you and your family, your hypocrisy, your prejudice—you are the filthy slime of this this world, not us. You are the disgrace, not me—not people like me—we have as much right to be here as you!"

His face is unreadable. He raises his hand and punches the door next to her head. It is a powerful blow and she can see his knuckles bleed.

He withdraws from her side, breathing heavily, and pushes open the door viciously, leaving the scene in hurried resounding footsteps.

* * *

Hi people, it's been a while...

I hope you like this chapter better than I did.

Read and review.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

_"__I need to access the vanishing cabinet."_

Three times he speaks the words and watches the doorway materialise.

"Don't mess it up this time, Crabbe." Draco shoves a set of scales against a pretty, auburn-haired and blue-eyed Crabbe. His eyes linger on the polyjuiced boy's soft features. He had dated this girl briefly, he remembers. "Stay on the look out and drop the scales if you see anyone approach. That Trelawney almost ran into me here yesterday."

The disguised boy nods and Draco enters the Room of Requirement alone. For his present need, it always transforms into a labyrinthine expanse, filled with tall stacks of books, cupboards and tables, broken articles and trinkets. He ducks as a frisbee zooms past his head.

Time is running out for him.

The end of school year is close. And he still hasn't managed to carry out the Dark Lord's task.

All of his plans, the necklace, the bottle of poisoned oak-matured mead… have failed to hit the target.

He sees the vanishing cabinet, partially repaired, and looks away. He has spent the better part of this year trying to forge a way to Borgin and Burke, just in case all his other approaches to the task fail.

He sits on his haunches, running his hand over the smooth porcelain, trying to remember what the book from the Forbidden Library had said about restoring objects to a past state. This could work. Only the object would move back in time, to a point when it was fully functional.

This could work.

He closes his eyes, reclining against the wall, and sighs. His dreams have been twisted and muddled of late. Everything in his life has turned dark and not the kind he relishes.

The Dark Lord will kill his parents if he doesn't finish the task. And his mother has reassured him that Severus Snape will help him. But he cannot ask for help… If he does this thing, if he… it has to be now and on his own. No one else can take credit. Not when he has been through hell to contrive all this.

_You'll do it_, he tells himself. Y_ou can handle this. You can do this._

Family means everything in his world. The bonds of flesh are to be honoured and cherished above all else. Family protects you. Family shelters you. Family lifts you above the ignominy of commonness.

And after the debacle at the Ministry, he is to be his father's succour, lifting him in the Dark Lord's esteem, by performing this one _little_ task. That is what his aunt Bellatrix had said.

But he knows the subtext. _This_ is his father's punishment, for failure. And he is to be the sacrifice. Perhaps the Dark Lord expects him to fail and this is just _His_ way of tormenting Draco's family.

He sighs.

And lately, darker clouds have been gathering in his mind. Ever since he discovered… but no, it can't possibly be true. That girl is merely a mud blood, a person of no consequence or social standing, hanging by the coattails of Weasley and Potter—a base, worthless creature. People like her have stolen magic in their veins. They are unnatural.

A loud clang causes him to look up. That must be Crabbe, dropping the scales as he directed. Draco hopes it isn't Potter, snooping around places he should keep out of. But he won't be able to enter the room unless Draco wills it. And he wills it not.

The sound of door creaking open and soft footsteps approaching surprises him. Quietly, he sneaks behind a cupboard, intent on staying hidden until the intruder leaves. No one can discover his plan. Not even his so-called friends.

The smell of vanilla fills his nostrils as the intruder draws closer. He knows this smell. He clenches his fists, recognising who the trespasser is.

The mudblood.

He glances at her furtively, staying hidden, and catches sight of her curly brown hair leading away from him. She's searching for something.

"Room… I just need to find the book, okay… I need a precise location. So, please, show me where he hid it," she says out aloud. His ears perk up in interest. So Potter hid something in the room as well. And this… she needs to find it. Fat chance. She wouldn't find it in all this mess.

She looks around, reading titles of the various books scattered around her, and he watches her progress with apprehension. Lately, every time he sees her, something unfamiliar rises in his heart. He feels his heartbeat increase and his skin feels like it is tingling, the kind of tingling you feel when you first ride a broomstick. He is also keenly aware of how overpowering her scent is—it feels like a sentient creature rises in his bosom, ready to take over and direct his actions, purely instinctual, if only Draco would relent.

He watches her bend down to pick up an old, perhaps lost, tome. Her eyes express curiosity and wonder and her lips part. Something primeval drops in the pit of his stomach and he almost draws blood from his nails digging into his palms.

He breathes heavily.

_This is a disease. This is a disease. It will pass._

Severus will have a cure.

He just needs to be patient. Severus has promised his mother that he would protect him. He is clever and knows the nuances of the Dark Arts. He will help, Draco hopes.

He watches her cast a wistful glance around her, tinged with frustration, and turn on her heels to leave the room quickly. The sound of that door closing is music to his ears. He sighs in relief, feeling the gathered beads of cold sweat trickle down his forehead.

It's a disease.

* * *

"I received a message from my father." Avery drags Draco to a deserted corner as soon as he enters the Slytherin common room. "It will take some time but he will be able to procure Acromantula venom. It will be expensive though."

Draco surveys the dark-haired boy thoughtfully. "How much?"

"About a hundred galleons."

"You're fleecing me, Avery." Draco lights up a cigarette. "Your father should know better than to profit off a Malfoy. We don't take kindly to being defrauded."

Avery pouts and shrugs. "It's a controlled potions ingredient, Draco. You want it or not?"

Draco's eyes travel over the crowd of students spread around the common room.

Such languor. Such dissipation. Most of them have parents serving the Dark Lord. They are simply biding their time until _He_ has control of the school and their world. And until that promised end arrives, they indulge in easy pleasures. Weed. Drugs. Sex. Violence.

He nods at Avery in affirmation and beckons Pansy over. He has been aware of her stares since he walked into the room.

"Hey Draco," she greets him with a wide grin and sparkling eyes. She has alway clung to his person, perhaps egged on by her parents, and they have dated frequently in the past two years. But ever since he broke off with her last, down by the lake, she has seemed morose, throwing him reproachful looks that end up in tears when he doesn't respond or care.

"How have you been?"

"Not… great." Her lip quivers. "I won't cry, I know how you hate it so… but oh Draco, I have been so wretched without you!" And without any further provocation, she throws her arms around his neck.

Her scent isn't vanilla. It's almost… vinegar-like.

"Pansy, I…"

"Yes. I will take you back, Draco."

"That's not what I was going to say, Pans."

She looks at him in confusion. "Oh?"

_It's a disease_, he reminds himself.

"Just… meet me in my bedroom? Later?"

Pansy bites her lip and he can see her struggle. She's not stupid. She knows that he doesn't regard her the same way as she does him. He wouldn't be taking advantage of her.

He needs to get rid of this disease.

"Okay." She gives him a small smile and a peck on the cheek before withdrawing, leaving him alone with his morose thoughts.

* * *

He lies in the bed, reclining against the headboard, failing to fight the tempest that has resurfaced in his mind.

He winces as she runs her fingers over the Dark Mark.

"Does it still hurt?" she asks curiously, her round eyes almost innocent, and Draco presses his lips.

"No," he answers shortly, without any explanation. Pansy's naked form, silhouetted against the darkness beyond his bed, is enticing. And yet, it doesn't quell the storm in his head.

The sex was brief and not worth the effort. And even though he tried to benumb his mind and feel pleasure, if only in the body and that too momentarily, he was sorely disappointed.

"Your family… they must be so proud of you, especially your mother," Pansy whispers. "This is a mark of great favour upon you."

He wants Pansy to leave. The confines of darkness are suffocating him and he needs to breathe.

"You should go," he says shortly. "I have work to do."

He watches the signs of hurt cross her face, but she bears it stoically, dressing herself quickly and leaves the room with a quiet goodbye.

* * *

_Gather ye rosebuds while ye may…_

Draco remembers his mother reciting the poem last Christmas. She had looked so sad and resigned when he bid her goodbye at the end of holidays. It had strengthened his resolve to finish his task at any cost.

Family was everything. _Blood_ was everything.

He sits at the breakfast table surrounded by Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle. His eyes travel to the Gryffindor table, seeking the one person he despises. Unaware of his stares, Hermione is engrossed in some book. Typical of her. Her companions, Weasley and Potter, are huddled together, and he wonders at their serious demeanour.

As he watches, she turns a page and glances up, meeting his gaze accidentally.

Something strange and sharp strikes his heart and he quickly averts his eyes.

"You are going to gouge a hole in the table, mate," Blaise says as he leans forward. "Something troubling your mind?"

Draco realises that he has been pushing the sharp end of his fork against the table, distractedly, and lets the fork fall with a clank.

"No," he drawls, arranging his face into a mask of unconcern. "We have DADA first today, don't we?"

Blaise nods in affirmation, his face expressing disbelief at Draco's words and he glances cursorily over the Gryffindor table. "Your moodiness wouldn't have something to do with the bushy-princess of Gryffindor, would it? I have noticed how you clamp up and become rather cool whenever she's around. What has she done this time, apart from being generally insufferable and disgusting?"

Draco rolls his eyes at his friend. "Nothing, Blaise. Keep your nose out of my business, will you?"

Blaise smirks, slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves.

Draco decides that he needs to talk to Severus before anyone else gets suspicious. He needs to nip it in the bud. He leaves for class before the Slytherin are halfway through breakfast.

Draco arrives at Severus's office just as he is leaving. The Potions master glances at him warily.

"We need to talk," says Draco meaningfully, and enters the room.

"About what, Draco? And might I remind you, this is not an appropriate location to be having any kind of conversation with me."

The dour Professor, with his greasy black hair and his hooked nose, looks rather menacing. But it doesn't faze Draco.

"I am running out of time. I need you to cure me."

Severus raises an eyebrow.

"Get rid of this… thing, whatever it is, the curse—yes that must be it, it is a curse, isn't it? And curses have cures," Draco says. "You have to help me, Severus. This will fulfil your vow to my mother."

Severus watches Draco with expressionless eyes.

"It is not a curse, Draco." Severus motions at a nearby chair. "Sit down. We have much to talk about. And if you want my help, it will be at my terms."

Draco deposits himself wretchedly into the directed chair, feeling dread growing in him with each passing moment.

"You're not cursed, Draco," Severus says, with his eyes closed. "Somewhere, a few generations away or more, who know, your bloodline was—fused with another creature, perhaps not entirely human. It is a part of your family history, no? There are records of it in your expansive library?"

Draco swallows. "I don't know. I've never looked. And I couldn't ask my parents, could I? Not them, not after all that they have been through—"

Snape's black eyes glitter in an unknown emotion at his words. "No, But I have looked Draco. And I have discovered evidence to corroborate my words. It is your heritage, whether you will it or no and it not a curse or a disease, as you choose to call it."

Draco covers his face with his shaking hands. "So what does it mean for me?'

"It makes you… special." Severus purses his lips. "It makes you more than human, perhaps. I have not studied the lore extensively, Draco—I don't have all the answers. But perhaps you will be more informed through experience. What about that book you stole from the Forbidden library?"

Draco bites his lip in apprehension. "I didn't… I mean, how did you…?"

Severus smirks at him. "You are not as stealthy or crafty as you believe. Not yet. So, what did you find in the book that has worried you to hysterics?"

Draco considers telling Severus everything, ranging from his promising attempt at repairing the vanishing cabinet to the monstrous, primeval shadow surging in him, egging him on to claim and satiate; from strange visions of carnal pleasure to a ragged, sharp awareness of his environment—he wants to confide in Severus for he feels alone and friendless but he stays quiet.

"I—am fine. There was nothing significant."

Severus looks at him as if he doesn't believe him but does not press the question.

"And now, for your end of the bargain—how are you planning to, ah, dispatch the Headmaster?"

Draco crosses his arms. "I can't tell you that, yet, Severus. It's my plan—and when I am ready to launch it, you will be the first to know. Just not yet."

Severus gives him a piercing glare but Draco manages to put up his Occlumency walls before he can intrude.

"_Cut it out, Okay!_" he tells him angrily. "It is MY plan and NO ONE is stealing it!"

With those words, he leaves Severus's office, banging the door loudly behind him.

* * *

_What if he fails?_

What if none of this works and Dumbledore lives and at the end of the year he is dragged down before the Dark Lord, to the cackling delight of his adversaries, and made to witness the torture of his parents and their ultimate murder. He, too, would not be spared. His father has related as much in his last letter.

He cannot fail.

He stands leaning against a pillar in the Astronomy Tower, one of favourite haunts and he frequents it whenever he feels anxious.

Avery will procure the Acromantula venom—the charm he means to perform is both complex and subtle—it requires a potion as well as an incantation.

Draco's flicks his cigarette and takes a deep drag, looking past the smoky haze into the night.

It will work.

And perhaps, once he is away from the castle, perhaps the curse (for he will not call it anything else) will subside and he will be rid of the torment.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Five points from Slytherin."

It's her voice. He can smell her before he sees her.

He glances over his shoulder. She has her wand out, lit at the tip to disperse darkness.

"What do you want, Granger? I have had a long day and I would rather not be disturbed in my peaceful musings."

She takes two steps towards him. "You are out after curfew. It is against the rules. So I suggest you get back to your common room and be peaceful there or I will make it fifty points from Slytherin."

He looks at her, his face masked, and throws away his cigarette butt, crushing it under his dragon-hide boots. Her face has a rosy tinge and in the moonlight it looks ethereal. He finds her eyes warm and sweet, almost as if they beckon something raw and untamed within him to rise. He feels it in the pit of his stomach. Something deeper awakens in him, goading his reason and senses to abandon control.

His lips tremble. Almost.

"Do you really think I care whether you dock a few more points off me?" He crosses his arms, and takes a few steps towards her, towering over her, and her sweet scent almost overpowers his sense. He would almost close his eyes at the subtle relief her closeness brings to him.

But no._ This is madness_.

She takes a step back and trains her wand at his chest. "Don't you dare pull anything like you did on the night of Slughorn's party. You _will_ go to your common room now or I will report you to you Head of House."

He sees her temper flare and for some reason, it doesn't irk him. Her eyes are hypnotising, mesmerising, almost as if she is the only real thing in his world of lies. Unconsciously, he raises his hand to her face but she, perhaps anticipating a hostile move, flinches and shoots a spell at his palm.

The skin in his upturned palm burns and before he knows it, with a swiftness he does not know he possesses, he grabs her arm, turning her on the spot, and she lands with her back tightly compressed against his chest. He knocks her wand to the ground and holds her tight.

He breathes in the scent of her hair deeply,

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?" She wriggles against him but he is too strong for her. "Just let me go already."

He should let her go. Merlin, he should. But he can't. Now that she is so close, so very much within his power, he cannot stop. Her smell, her touch, bloody hell even her annoying voice— all of these have effectively conspired to drive him to the edge of a pleasant insanity. He doesn't want to let go.

"Malfoy!"

Her voice is louder now, almost as if she is afraid— a darker emotion rises in him at her distressed voice and as suddenly and violently as he had grabbed her, he lets her go. She stumbles away from him and picks up her wand.

"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, Malfoy, but_ get over yourself,_" she says, her lips trembling as she trains her wand at him. Her small hand is steady, he will give her that. "Leave. _Now_. Or I promise I won't even wait for morning to report you. And this time, I will go to McGonagall."

The serpent of craving wants to strike again but he represses it and shrugs his sholders. He should get away from her as far as he can. It is only a matter of a few days—and after that, he will be rid of this unnatural feeling. And so, without a look back at her, he leaves.

* * *

Hey everyone,

I hope you liked this instalment. Please tell me if you liked this chapter. More reviews help me write better and faster.

Also, I would like your opinion on how dark you want the fic to be. And Your opinion of Draco.

Review please and happy reading.


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